


Forfeit

by MrsHamill



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paying a debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forfeit

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story years and years ago, just after Torchwood: Children of Earth aired. I hated that show. I used to love Torchwood until Rusty killed 90% of the cast and then proceeded to screw up the rest. Not beta'd, it's pretty short (and rather triggery, sorry).

There were a few people at the funeral, which surprised her; she hadn't invited, hadn't told anybody. It was probably the Vicar, he was an incurable meddler. He was concerned that Alice wasn't crying, didn't seem to be properly grieving over the death of her son. He had encouraged her to cry, to 'let it out.'

Alice hadn't told him there were no more tears left. She had cried them all out, had screamed them out. What else were you supposed to do when your father kills your son?

But there were people at the gravesite, taking up a few of the chairs next to hers, some neighbors, people whose children had played at one time with Stephen. People who had tried to express gentle condolence, softly worded platitudes meant to ease pain. Tell us if we can do anything. We're there for you. All you need to do is ask.

She wouldn't.

Faced with her stone-faced impassiveness, they eventually left her alone, even the Vicar. The men who were to take care of such things as the actual burial were the only ones left, and they hovered, waiting for her to leave before they would come and put her son into the ground, bury him under six feet of cold dirt. She knew she had to leave, but she couldn't. There was nothing left for her anywhere else but in the small, tasteful, expensive casket in front of her.

"You should leave, go home."

The voice almost startled her. The light was dimmer and the men had gone, perhaps to their dinner, hoping she would be gone when they returned. Alice turned and looked up. "What are you doing here?"

"First, paying my respects to the dead. Second..." The woman Alice knew only as Johnson came around and knelt before her, between her chair and the coffin. "Alice Carter. My life is forfeit to yours, now. I've come to offer it to you." Johnson pulled out a gun (a Glock semi-automatic, her brain supplied) and offered it to her.

It took her sluggish brain several minutes to realize what was happening. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Johnson's face was both serious and serene. "No. No joke."

Alice rubbed her face with both hands. "Go away."

"No." Johnson didn't move. 

"Get the _fuck_ away from me!" Alice screamed, striking out at Johnson, who neatly blocked the blow but didn't move otherwise. "There is _nothing_ I want from you!"

"Yes, there is," Johnson insisted quietly. "When I collected the two of you, you said if I harmed him, you would kill me." Johnson reached up with her free hand and held Alice's head, turning so that Alice had no choice but to meet her gaze. "I said I understood. I agreed to that stipulation, Alice. And now he's dead, and my life is forfeit to yours, as I agreed."

Alice slapped her hand away. "It wasn't you who killed my son, it was my father!"

"Under my watch!" John said, equally forcefully, though not as loud. "I aided him, I sent my men after Stephen for him, I did nothing to stop him!" 

Closing her eyes and leaning back in her chair, Alice crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "He sent you, didn't he? He's trying to deflect the blame from himself, that's just so typical, to just--"

"No. He's not. I haven't seen him, no one has." Johnson leaned in and put one hand on Alice's knee. "Alice. I'm telling the truth. It's as if he's disappeared off the face of the Earth. They wanted to interrogate you, ask you about him, but I told them no, that you wouldn't have a clue." 

Alice opened her eyes and frowned at Johnson. "Is that what this is about? You're trying to find him?"

Johnson sighed heavily. " _No._ I've told you what I'm doing. My life is forfeit to yours, Alice Carter, it is yours to take. You can kill me here, we can walk into the woods over there, whatever. No one will know."

"You want me to erase your guilt."

"Maybe." Johnson swallowed hard. "I pay my debts. This is a debt." Once again, she offered the gun.

Of a sudden, all the fight drained out of Alice. The fight, the life, any joy left... everything. With leaden hands, she reached out and took the heavy weapon and set it across her lap, examining it dispassionately. It was an ugly thing, black, oily and lethal, built for one thing and one thing only. She knew how to use it, her father and her mother had seen to that. After a few long moments of staring at it, wondering what to do with it, she slowly lifted it, opened her mouth and began to put it inside.

" _NO!_ " Johnson yelled, ripping the gun away and all but leaping on top of Alice, knocking her, the chair and several other chairs to the ground in the process. "Not that!" she gasped, making sure the gun was well out of reach. "My life is forfeit, not yours, never yours!"

Alice shook her head, wishing she had tears left. "My life is in that casket," she murmured, all she had the energy to do. "I have nothing left, not even a father."

"That's not true," Johnson replied quietly. "Stephen wouldn't have wanted you to do this."

"Don't presume to understand my life," Alice said in a harsh whisper, closing her eyes in pain. 

"I don't." Johnson swallowed hard and Alice focused on her face, shocked to see tears in her eyes. "They've offered me Torchwood."

Alice blinked and frowned at the sudden shift in topic. "Are you going to take it?" she asked, dully curious.

"I don't know. A month ago I would have said yes but now..." Johnson turned away from Alice's gaze. "I don't know I can... I don't know I can do what they ask of me. Your father showed me what they really are, and now I know, I'm not that." She took a deep breath. "You said he was the only one who could get us out of the mess we were in. You were right. But the cost was higher than anyone, than he was--"

The partially-collapsed chair under Alice shifted and dropped under her back. "Ow! Get clear of me," she said, her voice thick and harsh.

Johnson helped her up, righting the chairs and holstering the gun without comment. Finally they stood at the edge of the grave, and Alice wondered if the men would allow her to be buried along with her son. 

"You need to go home," Johnson said softly. "I'll come with you, brew you a pot of tea, call out for some take away, that Thai place you like. On me."

Alice closed her eyes in pain. "Do you know _everything_ about me?"

"It's part of the job, Alice." Her voice was soft and kind. "I'd like to see some of Stephen's baby snaps. And perhaps some of your mother and father, if you'd like."

She didn't want to leave, she wanted to stay, how could she leave her child here, alone, trapped in the cold earth?

Johnson's arm was warm across her shoulders. "Come on, then. It's time."

Alice let herself be pulled away, even though every step felt like she was walking on knives. Leaning into Johnson's warmth, she gasped, "I don't even know your first name."

Johnson pulled her tight against her side. "It's Delores," she murmured. 

 

end


End file.
